


The Mirror of Reason

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: RWBY
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, F/F, Knifeplay, Waxplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-10
Updated: 2016-01-10
Packaged: 2018-05-12 22:30:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5683282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Winter makes a deal with Cinder to spare Weiss, and it has consequences she doesn't expect. Set in a version of Mafia AU where Winter is the Schnees' firstborn (like in current canon).</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Mirror of Reason

**Author's Note:**

> Commissioned by dogtit on tumblr.
> 
> For those familiar with the other stories in the AU, this is set between And The Raven Shall Dwell In It and Balestra.

In the brief span of time it took to walk from the landing pad to her front door, a rime of ice had already started to form over Winter’s boots like a fragile shell. Despite the howling wind and almost impenetrable snow, there was a measure of comfort in Atlas’ frozen welcome, so familiar as to be a kindness in its own way. Three years might have been considered a short tour by some, but not an inch of her had relished being locked at border’s edge in a stalemate with an army of ancient Grimm on the opposite side, dozens of red eyes staring back. In so many days, they had never come in range of snipers or a manned barrage, and standing in the face of such soulless patience for so long was enough to make anyone paranoid.

As such, this respite was well-deserved. Ironwood had granted a month’s leave without reproach, telling her to return refreshed, and Winter intended to follow that order to the letter. A post was waiting for her as his immediate subordinate afterwards, all but guaranteeing a lieutenant general’s jacket when new commissions were granted throughout the service with the turn of the seasons again. Years before in the incessant drudge of basic training, the straightforward hell of graduating first among all the Specialists in her class, Winter had set aside any ambition of ever taking his place – it served no purpose, to look like a starved hound circling a superior’s feet – but now it was a distinct possibility, presented in actions rather than words.

An attendant was waiting in the foyer as she stepped inside, bowing deep enough to kiss the floor before he dropped down to one knee, heavy horsehair brush and cloth in hand to polish the icy slush from her boots and keep it from melting all over the rug. Kay was his name, if Winter recalled correctly, just as tall and narrow despite the passage of time, his tone calming to the ear as he stood up straight and declared _welcome home, Ms. Schnee._

Something recoiled low in her gut; hearing her name absent rank was strange now, and stranger still to be literally waited on hand and foot. It was Kay’s job, yes, but the military had long since installed the dual disciplines of obedience and self-reliance down to the bone – she knew to snap into action without a second’s hesitation when ordered, but when alone, she was an independent operator in every aspect. If anyone ever tried to shine her shoes in the field, Winter knew the whispers would have chased her up the ranks and into the grave.

She wasn’t her father, with his pack of servants bowing and scraping with every step, one there to take off his coat while another pressed a glass of scotch into a waiting hand. Even now, comatose in a bed far from here, Winter was sure a dozen doctors were waiting on his every breath, monitoring vitals and medication around the clock.

“There is a guest waiting for you, Ms. Schnee.” Kay said, his arm directing her eye to the receiving chamber, “whenever you wish to speak with her.”

Tension rippled up Winter’s spine, anger held on the back of her tongue until it cooled, was hammered sharp. “I permitted no visitors in my absence, Kay.”

“You have my deepest apologies, madame.” If nothing else, he appeared truly contrite. “I recognized her as a friend of the family, and she expressed a desire to be here the very moment you return. Shall I escort her out?”

Racking her mind through a list of possibilities, Winter’s mouth twitched into a frown. Plenty of friends courted the family’s indulgence – business partners, various celebrities and other rich hangers-on – but none of them were associated with the military or her service. How any of the above could even know she was returning on this particular day– “Her name, Kay. What is it?”

“Cinder Fall, madame.”

The frown deepened, radiating along the line of her jaw. That was a name that produced more questions than answers, but Kay would know nothing of it. “Take me to her and then leave. The rest of the evening is your own.”

“Are you quite certain?” Surprise framed his mouth, not quite repressed. “There’s no one else in the house to see to your needs.”

“I’ll determine arrangements for the staff tomorrow, Kay.” If any of them were needed in the first place. “Has my sister called?”

He nodded. “She left a message early this morning, madame, hoping for your safe return. The flowers Ms. Schnee couriered here are arranged in the study.”

A preemptive gesture to be sure, considering how much she and Weiss had yet to discuss, but it was sweet of her. Family matters weren’t meant to pass over military comms, no matter how encrypted. “Then I’ll see to that later. I don’t wish to keep my guest waiting.”

“As you will.” Kay turned on his heel, straight-backed as any soldier, and led her down the hall to the proper chamber.

Winter couldn’t recall the last time this wing saw any use. Having a small receiving room was entirely purposeful, as she possessed neither the time nor inclination to recreate the meetings and parties that marked her youth, reflections of Silberne’s indulgence with all the trappings of luxury. It was an excuse to show off his property – for which there was a very broad definition – at best, and Winter preferred succinct and discreet communication absent such ego.

So it was that Cinder appeared as something wild and rare in the center of her chamber, swathed in cardinal red and accents of gold, jewelry studded with black teardrops a shade darker than the hair spilling down bare shoulders, countered by a single, asymmetrical streak of grey. Even in the heart of the coldest month, Cinder’s skin held a radiant strength, sunkissed and impossibly youthful, as if the wind outside – harsh enough to shear the flesh of the unprepared – was repelled by will alone. Some trick had to be involved for the older woman’s heels to be in any way practical, but they were clear as glass, like someone had carved their shape from the ice itself.

“Winter.” Rising to her feet with controlled grace, Cinder closed the distance between them in one smooth, deliberate stride. “How long has it been?”

Years, and even then, they were scarcely familiar with one another. Cinder was Weiss’ tutor, a constant presence at her sister’s side, but she had already completed her training for the officers’ corps by then, intending a far different path. “Long enough to make this…homecoming a mystery. Did Weiss sent you?”

“Would that she had, if only to steal that frown from your face.” Cinder’s laugh was warm and gratified, settling like mulled wine deep in the belly. “You’re as stern as ever, Winter.”

“What kind of greeting did you expect, pushing your way into my house without an invitation?” No kindness clothed her voice, only the raw barbs of irritation, but Winter saw no need to restrain herself in the face of such an intrusion. She had been taught to take control, to lead, not simper in supplication.

“Just because Weiss didn’t name me her messenger doesn’t mean I’m not here in her best interests, Winter.” Withdrawing to the couch, Cinder reclaimed her seat, folding her hands together in contemplation. “Much has happened while you were away.”

Her words held a ring of truth, but that had been clear from the beginning. “I’m listening.”

“The least you could do is offer me a drink if you’re determined not to sit eye-to-eye with me.” Cinder’s chastisement was a tease, the brush of fingertips over bare skin rather than knuckles rapped red. “Come now, Winter. Pick your poison.”

The nearby cabinet was flush with bottles, every one the finest of their label – gifts, mostly – and left to collect dust; or they would have, if not for Kay’s dutiful upkeep. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Winter opened its rounded door with the twist of a crystal knob, peering inside for something suitable. Over the last decade, she had lost her taste for sweet liquor and wine – Ironwood preferred bourbon, and the officers’ lounges carried it in excess – but an amber decanter of whiskey secreted on the bottom shelf caught Winter’s curiosity.

“I dismissed my attendant for the day, so there’s no ice.” She declared without looking Cinder’s way, popping the cork after a hard twist to break the seal.

“There’s no need.” Glass clinked together, gentle as a chime, as Winter pulled tumblers out for them both out of the drawer below. “I never understood why someone would ruin a century’s work by diluting it with water.”

“Accounting for different tastes, perhaps.” Once the cabinet was closed again, Winter turned with the whiskey in hand. “If this isn’t to yours, then you can fetch an alternative on your own.”

She waited for Cinder to take the glass, but no movement was made, though they were a mere step apart. Golden eyes glowed in silent, patient amusement, and Winter stifled the instinct to drop the whiskey in Cinder’s lap, if only for the split second of surprise it might engender. Instead, she brought the tumbler down cupped in her palm, clear edge a centimeter from carmine-painted lips. For a moment, Winter expected Cinder to try and take a sip, gaze cast down like a sacrifice accepting a final offering, and that momentary submission – however feigned it had to be – roused a hunger Winter hadn’t felt in months.

Cinder finally reached for the glass, clasped it in her hands with unnecessary delicacy, and Winter returned to the opposite corner of the table, still refusing to sit. “Are you satisfied?”

“Indulge me one question before I explain what’s come to pass.” A long, slow sip of the whiskey was taken, but if the strength of the brew made any impact, Cinder’s face never showed it. “Why is it you never came to claim your half of the Schnee estate? This is a homecoming long overdue.”

“It’s a claim in name only.” Winter countered, rankled by the implication. “Weiss will only be executor as long as our father is ill.”

“That presumes he’ll ever wake again, and little has changed in three years. You essentially surrendered your entire inheritance without even showing up in court.” Cinder said.

“I was serving my tour.” Never mind that it was spent staring over an ancient and godforsaken wall at Grimm older than the name _Atlas_ itself. “I knew Weiss would keep things in hand. Why bother to take what I have no time to oversee? It’s still mine by right whenever Father passes on.”

“So if he was to die tomorrow, you’d retire?” A dark brow arched, confirming the question was rhetorical. “You wanted Weiss to have everything.”

With no inquiry was presented, only cold and direct fact, Winter wanted to curse her for divining it so quickly. For as little as they had spoken in years before, Cinder always had that gift, plucking the truth from the air and stripping it of its wings. Having such a woman in a household of secrets and withheld words was singularly aggravating when it was family policy to keep everything neat and clean before the public. How had Father tolerated it, knowing a jackal like her would scavenge from every skeleton she sniffed out?

Unless, somehow, Cinder’s secrets were even worse than theirs.

“He was monstrous to her.” Winter said softly, washing the bile from her throat with half the glass in a single swallow. “I know you saw it. Weiss was never perfect in his eyes, she couldn’t be.”

“But you were.” Cinder replied, eyes narrowing a degree. “The jeweled blade of the Atlas military, serving her country with pride.”

“ _His_ pride.” She snapped back, gloved fingers squeezing around the tumbler. “For the sake of boasting about my work to the world. He used it like a weapon against…he wanted Weiss to believe she could never be enough.”

Cinder leaned back in her seat, legs crossing one over the other. “Because she killed your mother.”

“Weiss didn’t strangle her in the womb.” Winter hissed back. “What my mother suffered from became more of a risk with every pregnancy. I could have been the death of her too, if chance fell that way.”

“Did you think his wrath would be lessened when you left?” A soft hum left Cinder’s throat. “I suppose in a way, it might have been, considering your service meant you could die in the field and leave him with a single heir.”

“I chose to serve my nation because the citizens of Atlas should know that no one is born above fear, above war.” No matter how many monsters were often fostered in one’s own home, hidden without slavering fangs and crimson eyes. “And Weiss deserves the luxury and comfort our name should promise, Cinder. I wanted her to have the power I couldn’t promise for so long.”

With a sigh, Winter finished off her drink and abandoned the glass to the table. “How is it you know all of this? Weiss hasn’t been your student since she was a teenager.”

“Education is no longer my focus.” Cinder set her glass aside as well, a amber ring of whiskey lingering at the bottom. “I run my own business now and play local politics. When it became clear we shared a mutual enemy, Weiss and I decided to trade surveillance and protection to benefit us both.”

“The White Fang.” If ‘enemy’ was the word for that unruly pack after Silberne spent so long lining their pockets. “Is it true she’s with–”

“A Faunus?” The amused lilt in Cinder’s voice was thick, almost syrupy. “I wondered if she had told you.”

It seemed like utter madness the first time Winter read the correspondence Weiss sent, concealed under more layers of encryption than a proprietary blueprint, but the message ended on such a plaintive note – _if you never trust me in anything else, sister, please trust me with thi_ s – that she had suppressed every screaming instinct to return home and demand answers. Faunus had never been permitted to serve in a Schnee household, so there was only one way they could have met.

“If Blake treated her poorly, you would have a rather large hide hanging over your fireplace by now.” For reasons beyond her ken, Cinder was inordinately protective of Weiss, although Winter hesitated to call the affection maternal. Nonetheless, she understood the drive all too well.

“Your sister is the beloved of one of the most dangerous people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting, Winter, but Blake traded both life and loyalty to be at her side.” An absolutely devious smile curved Cinder’s full lips, bared a crescent of white teeth. “Besides, I’ve tamed the beast before, so there’s little cause for concern.”

Outrage dropped Winter’s jaw an inch before she recovered, anger renewed in a heartbeat. “You slept with my _sister’s_ –”

“It was years before Blake was involved with Weiss, Winter.” Cinder laughed, undeniably satisfied. “Well, the first time.”

Rage tore right through reason as Winter lunged forward, slapping her hard enough that Cinder’s head snapped to the side. “Did you touch her!? Weiss was your student, she’s barely twenty-one!”

When Cinder met her demanding gaze, a new fire had been unleashed in those eyes, unrelenting and savage. “And if I did? I wasn’t her teacher when Weiss came to my bed, nor was I the first to bed her. How much she may have learned, however, I can’t say.”

The second slap was hard enough to send the force resounding back through Winter’s palm, the rough rasp of leather leaving a red stain rising across Cinder’s cheek. Winter watched the older woman’s tongue press against the inside of her own teeth, and knew she must have drawn blood. Yet Cinder’s hands remained open and empty in her lap, not even bothering to tuck the hair she’d disheveled back into place.

“Why are you here?” Winter snarled, fingers seizing Cinder’s throat in a firm grip, ready to tear it out if need be. “This is your last chance to answer.”

“I just wanted you to know how things are, Winter, before you return to your perch at the top of the world.” The reply came without hesitation or strain, as if she wasn’t an inch from being choked, windpipe sealed shut. “You must believe Weiss truly hates you, to hide so far away.”

“I hurt her for long enough.” Winter whispered, each word ground out through her teeth. “I’ll give Weiss no cause to resent me by coming home and taking half of what she now holds, what she bled for thanks to our father’s cruelty. And you – _you_ – will never put your hands on her again.”

“And what would you give to ensure such a promise held any weight?” It was a goad, blatant as a lash to the back, but Winter couldn’t allow the force behind her words to buckle without dishing out recompense.

Her fingers tightened another degree until leather creaked, the fragile bone in Cinder’s throat  caught between thumb and forefinger. “Is that supposed to bait me into offering my own body in her stead? Letting you use me?”

“I’d never–” There was a second’s hesitation as Cinder had to swallow hard to fill her lungs again, steal enough air to speak. “–be so presumptuous.”

“Liar. You walk into every room like all the kingdoms are yours and I’m supposed to believe that?” Winter sneered, although something about the constant throb of Cinder’s pulse under her grip was calming. “I can only think of one other reason you’d dare to come here.”

“Is that so?” Despite the dismissive arrogance in Cinder’s tone, there was no mistaking the kneejerk flutter of her heartbeat. “If you wish to draw a line between myself and Weiss, there is a price to be paid for it. Perhaps there is a balance between that price and your desires.”

“The only thing I want right now is to hurt you.” Winter said simply.

She expected anything but a shrug in return, much less a faint nod of acknowledgement. “That stands as a possibility. Absent permanent injury, of course.”

“Why would you take _that_ in trade?” Just because she didn’t see the tripwire when Cinder spoke didn’t mean it wasn’t there.

“To see exactly what you’re capable of. Perhaps to scourge my mind of other things.” When Winter held her tongue, Cinder’s smile returned in a sedate, controlled shift. Held impassionately by the throat, she almost looked at peace. “Do you need more reasons?”

Whether lies would be cast upon the block next or simply uncomfortable truths, Winter refused to hazard a guess, but either way, it appeared pointless to ask for more. “You want me to punish you.”

“ _Punish_ is such an interesting word.” Full lips pursed into a tighter line. “As is _want_. Some needs lay deeper than that.”

Penance, then, might have been more appropriate, except Cinder looked anything but contrite. “I won’t be able to scour your soul.”

“Well, that’s not a task I would even set upon my most hated enemy.” Tilting her cheek down against Winter’s palm, Cinder could have been mistaken as demure, if one wanted to see it that way. “Is our bargain struck?”

“If you obey me.” The steel of command took Winter’s voice, more for formality’s sake than anything else. “And accept whatever discipline I see fit.”

“Keep to the letter – and spirit – of what you’ve promised, and I will leave Weiss be. In such carnal aspects, anyway.” Her smile quirked on the final syllable, set like a hook. “You may keep me here for twenty-four hours. And _Calyx_ is what you should listen for.”

“Your safeword?” Winter asked, and upon receiving another nod in turn, tossed a few different possibilities back-and-forth inside her mind. “Mine is _Aegis_.”

“How fortuitous.” Cinder bowed her head, and that wicked, willing mouth moved just far enough to kiss leather-clad knuckles. “As you will, Winter.”

“Until our time is done, you may not refer to me by name. First or last.” This wasn’t about who she was – it was about something deeper, even if the leylines of the truth were concealed by an expert hand. “Am I understood?”

A curious twinkle danced through Cinder’s eyes before she snuffed it out. “Would you prefer ma’am or Colonel?”

“The former.” Taking a full step back, Winter drew all the emotion from her face, affixed it into an empty, impassive mask. “Stand up and strip.”

All the mocking obeisance she expected – since Cinder hadn’t been ordered to hold her tongue, yet – never came. When she stood, it was only to reach back for the clasp of her dress, tight lines falling into a loose gathering of fabric around full hips once it was undone. Stocking-clad thighs pressed together to will the dress down those last few crucial inches, leaving a pool of crimson silk at her feet. Golden eyes flickered up to take note of Winter’s inspection, but no shame or hesitation lingered there, only silent acknowledgment before Cinder attended to her bra next.

Even her lingerie was cut and sewn to a perfect fit, swathed in an opaque sheath of dark lace to downplay the obscene into the alluring. Narrow straps slid past Cinder’s shoulders and met at her wrists before the bra fell to the floor, abandoned as casually as the dress. Yet Winter was more impressed at the subtle bend of Cinder’s knees as she stripped her underwear away, somehow making the move appear graceful rather than stumbling as they slipped past each heel.

The truth set its hooks in as Cinder’s spine straightened, expectant but not submissive. Where anyone to walk in on them right now, Winter knew the situation would be unsalvageable – what excuse was there to have Weiss’ ex-tutor naked in the middle of her receiving room – and kept the balance of power between them on an uneven tilt.

Well, some of that could be fixed.

“I don’t recall telling you to leave your heels on.” Winter’s eyes narrowed, displeasure on full display. “Take them off. Now.”

She watched the subtle tremble of muscle travel up the inside of Cinder’s thighs as the first shoe was stepped out of, balance held until the second was removed as well. It cost the older woman a good four inches in height, enough that when Cinder looked at her again, it was with her chin tilted up, throat bared out of necessity. Such a state was far more preferable, and Winter knew any advantage she could take from the beginning would serve well until the end of this.

“Keep still.” Both words were enunciated, but the space between them was tightly clipped. “I have to know what I’m working with.”

So began a slow circle of steps, Winter’s eyes scanning her body from head to toe. That Cinder was beautiful remained unquestionable, a simple fact of the universe, but whether it was hidden in the runes of Dust carved deep into otherwise flawless skin or the unusual shape tattooed between her shoulder blades, some inhuman element put Winter’s teeth on edge. It was as if the older woman was trapped in amber, an impenetrable stasis that cut her off from the rest of the world, crossing its surface without ever quite touching ground.

The most ancient people of Remnant believed in goddesses and spirits, all capable of divine wrath, and there were certain occasions when Winter understood why.

“Shall I remove my jewelry as well?” Cinder asked, letting the question roll smoothly off her tongue before tacking an absent _ma’am_ onto the end of it.

Said jewelry was only a pair of earrings and a single necklace, black stones bound together and suspended with platinum wire, twisted thin as thread. Without her clothes to break their emphasis, Winter found the necklace resembled a rather expensive, detailed collar. “No. It suits you.”

Two more steps and the real test had arisen. Now she had an unobstructed view of Cinder’s back and a sword at her hip, a potentially fatal combination if the desire arose, but Winter saw no flinch or tension as she closed the last of the distance between them, angling her head to utter a command right into Cinder’s ear.

“Pick up your clothes. I won’t have a mess left in my chambers just because you have no discipline.” It would have been so easy to let her control slip then, sink teeth into Cinder’s pulse and taste the eagerness there, but Winter swallowed the urge. This game demanded give and take from both sides. “Then you will carry everything to my bedroom. I expect you to lead our way there.”

“And if I don’t know where it is, ma’am?” Cinder asked, tone softer and edging on breathless.

“Then I’ll have to punish you for missing such a simple detail.” A hundred possibilities were there, waiting to be provoked. “I don’t believe you kept yourself confined to this room for hours while awaiting my return. When Kay’s duties called him away, you went wandering, didn’t you?”

“What sin is curiosity?” A _yes_ lay in the center of that honey-sweet question, but there was little need to extract it when Winter already knew the truth. “You’re a very private woman…ma’am.”

Again, that hesitance; she’d have to force the title from Cinder’s lips until it became second nature. “That’s no excuse. Must I repeat my orders again?”

Cinder’s body pushed back against hers as she bent down, gathering the clothes together with a mindfulness for avoiding wrinkles in the silk. Once everything was in hand, Cinder started to walk, the cant of her hips holding a different way now that her feet were bare. Winter followed with even steps, ensuring she had no choice but to keep walking forward, as a second’s pause would send them colliding into each other. If the cold air in the hall bothered her, Cinder suppressed any sign of it, held deep in skin and nerve.

The right room was chosen, as expected. Pausing in the very center of the rug laid before Winter’s bed, Cinder glanced over her shoulder for the first time, waiting once more. It was a smart move, considering letting the clothes topple to the floor would have been countered with a barked order otherwise. Winter bit her tongue on asking just how many times Cinder had played a part like this, whether they were for pleasure or another purpose. Such submission seemed unsuited for a woman who plucked the heartstrings of the powerful on a whim, dominating nature itself with her presence, yet Cinder now swathed herself in humility, set as easily in place as a pin to a cloak.

“Put your things in the chest there.” Winter pointed to the wooden behemoth beside her desk, the lid abominably heavy but unlocked. “It’s empty, so do so however you like.”

Glass clinked softly against polished wood as Cinder obeyed, keeping the lid propped with a tight grip while laying everything in place. Huge brass hinges creaked once the chest was shut and a step back was taken, surrendering custody of its contents. While retrieving her clothes would be a minor inconvenience at best, authority became unquestionable when it was woven in layers, so ever-present that all thoughts of resistance were snuffed out before ever taking shape. That demanded trial after trial, reminders that she had consented to been brought down low.

“Now kneel for me.” The rug was soft, presenting no hardship unless Cinder found cause to struggle on it. “Hands behind your back.”

Cinder dropped to the floor with the guise of second nature, knees meeting the rug in restrained symmetry and without a sound. Her posture would have put half the officers’ corps to shame, spine straight and shoulders aligned as both hands came back, each clasping the opposite wrist. Propriety was ingrained too deep for Winter not to close the bedroom door, but it was left unlocked, and she reached down to find the clasp for her sword’s sheath, breaking its connection with her leather belt and leaning the weapon against the closest bedpost. There was no point in dealing with the blade’s weight when its use as a tool of intimidation was minimal; neither one of them was suited for such extremes.

Next came the coat, allowing for a bit more flexibility. A clasp was hidden behind the stone guarding her throat, and Winter opened that first before parting the halves of silver that joined at her waist. The rack by her desk had been cut to the perfect height for hanging the coat years ago, keeping its structure without threatening creases or other damage; the uniform was worthy of the same respect civilians and the lower-ranked treated her with for wearing it, after all. If it cut an appropriately imperative figure for her actions now, so much the better.

“I know that’s red Dust branded into your skin, but are you actually immune to flame?” Winter asked, giving the collar of the coat one last adjustment before turning to the set of drawers beside the rack. “You showed that trick with the candle to Weiss once and she talked about it for a week.”

“Fire finds no purchase on my skin. It can’t burn me or ignite, but I still feel heat…” Cinder’s smile was small, absent teeth. “…and pain, of course.”

In this case, those were the only two characteristics that mattered. “Excellent.”

A few moments of searching resulted in victory; a box of candles, never burned. Their colors matched the scheme of the room – pearlescent white and sky blue descending to the darkest shade of the ocean and a pair cut from pure black wax – and could be lit in any season, but Winter had never occupied this room long enough to bother, and leaving so many open flames unattended if she was elsewhere in the house seemed unwise. Picking up one, Winter took a deep breath, but they were scentless, made from beeswax without oil that would scald or the sting of harsher, artificial chemicals. Perfect.

“Put your hair up. Once it’s above your neck, return to the first position.” She set the entire box on the table in Cinder’s view, producing a small silver lighter from another drawer. “I assume you wanted play and not legitimate torture.”

“An interesting line to draw, when the pain is real nonetheless.” Cinder shrugged, fingers winding a braid into place. “Will toying with me satisfy your anger? Would torture, if that took its place?”

“It will if you make the same sounds.” Winter countered, tasting sulfur on the back of her tongue as she lit a trio of wicks. “Unless your intent is not to react at all.”

“That would be a waste of valuable time for us both.” The gold in Cinder’s eyes shone brighter in proximity to the flame, as if its color was being swallowed from them. “Ma’am.”

“You don’t like that title, do you?” Turning away from the candles to tower over her, Winter raised a brow. “A name you can twist into anything you like, and there’s plenty of jokes to be made about military ranks, but that little marker of respect drives a needle under your skin.”

“It was _my lady_ once, when this kingdoms still had crowns to speak of.” Winter blinked; Mantle had fallen a century ago, and that had been the last of the four to be toppled. “I disliked it then, too.”

A thousand questions rose to her tongue, all of which she quieted but one. “So you prefer the physical aspects of this, but not the mental?”

“My body will always bend before my mind does.” Cinder rolled her shoulders back as if to emphasize the point, that subtle pull of muscle drawing attention to the curves below.  “Aura has a limit, a sharp enough blade will inevitably draw blood. The soul gives, flesh gives, but I can keep every secret in the world locked in my head even when I’m pierced through.”

“And torture makes one forget that truth.” Winter examined the growing pools of wax out of the corner of her eye. “Was that your point?”

A deep breath was drawn in between carmine lips as the first candle was picked up, flame still glowing bright. “It can, certainly.”

“Certainly.” A slow turn of Winter’s wrist sent a splash of opaque wax down Cinder’s bare shoulder, spilling to her breast before it hardened into a dozen pale lines.

Before a hiss could even escape Cinder’s lips, the candle was sharply tilted in the opposite direction, the rest of the wax falling in scalding drips. One cleaved to the rune just below her collarbone, provoking a golden glow before the heat dissipated, and Winter turned back to the table with a smile, picking up the second candle. White wax only carried a tender sting, but pain could build on itself, walk the line between bliss and agony until any sensation, no matter how pleasurable, was too much to bear.

The next was a soft slate color, matching the threads dyed in the rug below Cinder’s knees. Winter carried the candle cupped in a leather-clad palm, careful not to let the deep pool of wax spill over one side or the other. “Stay still.”

Without further warning, she tipped the candle, emptying all that had melted. A light blue streak began at the hollow of Cinder’s throat and descended as a scorching trail between her breasts, some clinging to the sensitive skin and hardening to a dripping edge, the rest coating her stomach. It was a thin layer by the time it stopped right below her bellybutton, lines cracking through the surface when Cinder gasped, the searing pain gone as soon as it had arisen.

“Are you only using three, ma’am?” Title or not, the eager rasp in Cinder’s voice was a backhanded sort of encouragement.

“Tending too many flames at once risks them going out.” Blowing out the wick on the candle in her hand, Winter returned it to the table and picked up the third. “It’d be a shame if they weren’t hot enough, wouldn’t it?”

The royal blue one was retrieved now, dark enough that Winter could feel the contained heat all the way through her gloves. Whether alarm or excitement parted Cinder’s lips as she approached was difficult to tell, but dilated black was edging into forge-bright irises, and that was enough reason to continue. This time one of her hands seized Cinder by the hair, fingers sinking right below the tight braid to get a solid grip before she wrenched Cinder’s head back, holding her at an angle that would be painful to fight.

“Keep your legs together.” Winter ordered, waiting for the faint shift that confirmed obedience before the third candle was upended too.

Wax splattered across the tops of Cinder’s thighs, some of the scattered drops reaching high enough that the spike in intensity tore a moan from deep in her throat. Winter would have called the sound tortured if not for the full-body shiver that followed, betraying another feeling entirely. The heat of the darker wax lingered, leaving narrow streaks all the way down to Cinder’s knees by the time it dried. She was starting to resemble a mosaic now, different colors broken by swathes of bare skin, soft pinks spreading out from under the white wax but edging closer to red the lower one looked.

“Not a bad beginning, I suppose.” Checking her gloves to ensure no wax had dripped onto the leather, Winter found the inspection satisfactory and took up the lighter once more, using it to tend three more wicks. The candles in this set were the same uniform shade of midnight blue, and would need longer to burn. “Do you enjoy being tied up?”

Through the haze, Cinder managed a frown. “Not particularly.”

“You must have practiced in order to keep so still.” For all the noise made, the older woman’s movement had been restricted to mere trembling. “It gives little reason to see you bound.”

She gave a faint shake of her head. “No practice is needed, only a firm hand directing order to chaos. Pain…brings clarity.”

“You learn what’s important about yourself.” Staring into the fire of the closest candle, Winter watched it cling to every new centimeter of exposed wick, greedy for more to feed on when it was already drawing from all the oxygen in the room. “What will survive when the rest ceases to matter.”

Cinder’s answer was a quiet murmur of agreement, words forgotten when Winter took a candle in each hand. This time she blew the flames out first, the newly extinguished wicks less than an inch from flesh before they both tilted sharply, wax covering both sides of Cinder’s ribs in unison. A choked shout followed, her body arching up into the pain despite a kneejerk instinct to retreat. There was a distinct pleasure in watching Cinder twist and try to cling to control, sending hot lines spilling in wild paths down to the flare of her hips. When it faded to another veneer of color, congealed in place, she was breathing hard, head bowed towards the floor for a long moment before any attempt to straighten up was made.

“No, stay that way.” Exchanging the pair of candles for the last lit one, Winter returned to her and brought it low enough for Cinder to see. “And blow this out for me.”

Her rough breaths were already staggering the flame, but she had to draw more into her chest to meet the order, extinguishing it with a harsh exhale. Winter couldn’t help a smile in the split second before the wax was spent, a broad and vivid splash across both of Cinder’s breasts. Golden eyes went wide, cut to glistening crescents as Cinder let out a guttural, almost animal sound. Something from a beautiful and powerful beast caught right on the hunter’s spear, every desperate struggle only driving the point deeper.

“Does it hurt?” Winter whispered, low and curious.

“Yes.” Cinder choked out.

The slap she unleashed in turn wasn’t as hard as the ones in the receiving room, but Winter allowed her hand to linger, pressure spreading across Cinder’s jaw. “Yes, what?”

“Yes, ma’am.” It was uttered quickly, nigh-apologetic. “Forgive me.”

Now they were getting somewhere.

Her thumb gently stroked over Cinder’s cheek before Winter rid herself of the last blue candle, bypassing every other color in the box to find the pair of black ones. Both were lit before she consigned the lighter back to its drawer and arranged what other candles remained, closing that box as well. One other tool was needed to finish this, but Winter didn’t want to reveal it or its purpose just yet. The chance of truly surprising Cinder was low, but worth the price of a moment’s patience nonetheless.

She remained silent as the final candles melted, listening for the rasp of carpet or splintering wax that would betray any movement behind her, but Cinder did a remarkable job of holding her tongue for once. It was almost enough to believe this sort of arrangement brought a real sense of peace, but Winter felt in her bones that a force far greater than any she could summon would be required to recalibrate a mind like Cinder’s, regardless of consent expressly given.

Finally, there was enough wax melted to suit her intentions, and Winter carried the candles with slow and measured steps until she was facing Cinder’s back. A light pattern of bruises surrounded one wrist where the other woman had gripped herself too tightly and then relaxed, but it was nothing Aura wouldn’t heal once permitted to do so. “Lace your fingers together and put your hands against the back of your head.”

Cinder complied after a short stretch, spine aligned once more into flawless posture, and Winter’s fingers tensed around the candles as she took a step forward. On the next step, she had to pause, for fear of her grip collapsing the hollowed walls of wax. “Why are you allowing me to do this to you?”

“Do you fear enjoying it too much?” Although Cinder was looking straight ahead, Winter could somehow feel the piercing line of her stare. “Or I could ask the same question in turn. Why are you allowing yourself to do this to me?”

Rather than curse the rebuke, thrown back with such an ease that the older woman must have been expecting the question all along, Winter reacted with what she had in hand. The dual waves of black wax spread across Cinder’s back like newly unfurled wings, jagged and shaking, and their ensuing pattern was so fascinating Winter almost missed the strangled cry that followed, peaking in pitch before breaking apart into hoarse gasps. Yet she etched every second into memory when Cinder bowed completely, bent down with her head pressed to the floor.

Twin trails of wax met at the small of Cinder’s back, jostled by uncontrollable trembling until a soft whimper put an end to it, signaling surrender without a word. Were it anyone else, Winter would have immediately checked for burns deeper than were meant to be, but her skin was unbroken, even if every nerve from head to toe had been primed for the pain. Instead, the candles were disposed of without fanfare, and a moment’s perusal of a different set of drawers produced the exact implement she had been looking for.

The heavy infantry knife was standard issue for specialists, meant for concealment but incredibly lethal in trained hands. A single Dust vial could fit in its rounded grip, providing just enough punch to break through a target’s Aura, but once matters of rank had brought her up and out of the trenches, Winter had retired the blade for sole reliance on her swords. Now it had purpose anew, smooth steel more than suitable for her intentions.

“How long can you stay like that?” Satisfying as it was to see Cinder positioned as if to grovel, there were other logistics to wrestle with, each with higher priority. “What I have in my hands is cold and sharp, which would make sudden movement very unwise.”

Her answer was muffled against the rug, but audible enough. “As long as you wish.”

With no fear or hesitation expressed to give pause, Winter dropped to one knee and braced her free hand against the back of Cinder’s neck, ensuring any accidental recoil would be held in check the second it occurred. The flat of the knife was laid against bare skin, all presence and no pressure to allow some adjustment to the temperature before she turned the narrowest edge of the blade against the lowest thread of black wax. It was scoured away cleanly, but an echo remained on Cinder’s flesh, blood drawn to the surface yet never permitted to break through.

Inch by inch, Winter pried away the proof of her work, the wax breaking into shapeless shards and fragments onto the rug. As promised, Cinder remained bowed and still, save for the subtle rise and fall through her chest with each breath. Repetition brought a pattern to the path of the blade, an almost hypnotic precision, and when Cinder’s back was clean, Winter snapped back into the moment with a deep breath.

“Now I need you on your side.” Less an order and more a firm request; in the lulls between acts, kindness was key. Otherwise, overstepped boundaries could be missed, an unintended pain concealed. “But otherwise, you can relax.”

A slow uncoiling of limbs ended with Cinder laying across the length of the rug, raising her arms without request when Winter began to cut through the wax along her shoulders when certain angles became complicated to reach. She used the pressure of her fingers more than the knife when it came to more vulnerable places, but the wax was thinner there and peeled away like a sheet of paper. By the end of the process, Winter had mentally written off the price of a new rug, as removing ground-in wax wasn’t a torment she’d inflict on any servant, regardless of a generous salary.

“You’re kinder than I expected.” Cinder said, remaining on the floor even she followed Winter’s meticulous cleaning of the knife, its return to the proper case.

“I’m being responsible. Don’t mistake the two.” Winter shot back, turning to face her again. “Is pain the only thing you seek?”

A sedate blink followed, nowhere near coy. She had only needed to edge the knife up Cinder’s thigh an inch or two before slick arousal became apparent with the necessary parting of her thighs, not the least bit subdued at the proximity of the knife; if anything, Winter would wager the threat only heightened her excitement, which left that question hanging in the balance.

“Must I be so crude?” Lashes fluttered, chased by the hint of a smile. “Use my body in whatever way suits you.”

Such phrasing made her the actor rather than the acted upon, but Winter predicted no less. Abandoning the need for calculated mercy, she dragged Cinder to her feet with one brusque pull, then a shove forward that shattered any attempt at regaining some balance. The older woman stumbled before Cinder was caught by an hand coming around her throat and squeezing tight, the other cupping right between her thighs. Winter met her eyes in the reflection of the mirror she was now positioned towards, naked and trapped between two competing pressures, the grasp of warm leather in contrast to the crisp, cool fabric of the uniform now flush against Cinder’s back.

“There’s a thousand ways I could answer that challenge, none of which would cause permanent harm.” Winter’s fingers slid another inch up Cinder’s throat and squeezed, high enough that she was forced up onto her toes to compensate, lest she start to choke. “Are you really allowing me such freedom?”

“Within the limits of our time, yes.” A brief stumble followed, breath drawn in like a whine. “Let slip the leash.”

The difference in their height was enough to keep Winter’s view wholly unobstructed in the mirror as her other hand started to explore, fingers brusquely retracing the lines the wax had left, red rivers with countless tributaries. Her gloves appeared seamless, leather smooth and perpetually tended to, but the constant brush of the material over abraded skin was just as effective as the knife when applied properly. Cinder shivered and hissed, unwilling to ask for more aloud while her body set off every wanting signal, and when her hips jerked forward, telegraphing her need, Winter’s fingers plunged back between her thighs.

Just like with the candles, heat soaked through to her hand, and Cinder’s arousal was slick enough to give the leather a new sheen as if freshly polished. Winter parted her open with ease, eyes locked on the mirror and the reaction reflected in silvered glass as she thrust a pair of fingers deep. When Cinder lowered her body, drawing them in to the knuckle, she found herself caught against Winter’s opposing grip, denied air for a matter of seconds before pressing up onto her toes again. With that next breath came a moan, quivering in her throat, and Winter was quick to find a rhythm that drew Cinder close to that dangerous precipice over and over again.

Yet she needed more. Desperation engraved itself onto Cinder’s face in stages, a third finger taken without a struggle, but no other stimulation was offered other than the relentless pace and severed inhales. Her breathing was all the harder for it, and Winter kissed away a tiny drop of sweat before it could escape down the older woman’s cheek, any affection in the gesture smothered by a tightened grasp. A mild ache asserted itself in Winter’s wrist when she curved her fingers, but it was staunchly ignored; she possessed more than enough stamina to win this waiting game, and was rewarded when Cinder closed her eyes, breaking the line of contact with the mirror.

“No, you have to look.” Winter demanded, teeth snapping near Cinder’s ear. “If you want me to stop, say the word, but if you want more…beg me for it.”

It was a minor sacrifice, all things considered. Cinder didn’t have to mean the words, but she wanted to hear it nonetheless, and when those eyes were forced open again, her wish was granted. “Please.”

“That tells me very little.” Another rough thrust was the only thing given in turn, but Cinder clenched around her fingers instantly. “Please, what?”

Venom spit back her way would have been expected, even a breathless let me come if Cinder’s patience was truly on its final threads, but never the simple brutality of, “Break me.”

Winter knew what violence her hands were capable of, the sort meant for tearing monsters to pieces, but mercy could be just as agonizing in the right moment. She shifted her grip, holding Cinder back against her body as her fingers stroked higher and faster, seeking nothing but pleasure until Cinder shook with the force of her release, letting out a ragged, wordless shout. Her knees gave a second after, but Winter refused to let her fall until the last gasps and moans were stolen from Cinder’s lungs, playing on that razor’s edge of oversensitivity.

When her hands relaxed, the older woman’s collapse was anything but elegant, on hands and reddened knees right before the frame of the mirror. Cinder’s head rose by degrees until their eyes met in the reflection again, a drop of blood smeared across her bottom lip from where it must have been bitten too hard. Dazed and shaking, she wasn’t broken but bent, forced into a smaller shape – for the time being.

“Do you like what you see?” Reaching down, Winter found the braid binding Cinder’s hair up and place and saw the fragile weave of it undone, black locks spilling like an unruly cloak back over her shoulders. She stroked up and down from sweat-soaked crown down to winding curls, gentle as one soothing a startled hound. “With this much of a mess, I can only imagine what you’ll do to my sheets.”

A cough followed, low and throaty, before Winter realized it was her hoarse attempt at a laugh. Bruises were already blossoming around Cinder’s neck, sallow hues at the base darkening to singular points of blue that decorated her pulse. Winter’s jaw tensed at the sight, answered by a warm throb between her thighs. Such a need could be attended to at any time – if ever, considering she had ignored far greater desires when privacy was of utmost concern – but Cinder was already here, and curiosity filtered through her thoughts, powerful as any drug.

“Turn around.” Peeling off both gloves, Winter tossed them at her feet where Cinder kneeled. It would be senseless to dirty the rest of her uniform, thus the buttons of her vest were undone with bare fingers, followed by the buckle of her belt and a thin zipper. She allowed the leather straps to sag around her hips rather than removing the harness completely; access was the point, not a striptease. “Use your mouth, and not a word.”

The twin barriers of her trousers and underwear were drawn down a few inches, painted nails scraping over Winter’s hipbones while the heat of Cinder’s tongue found where she ached, the first few strokes spreading her open and slick before the service began in earnest. She settled one hand back into the black curtain of Cinder’s hair, finding it surprisingly soft to the touch, and allowed her eyes to wander back up to the mirror. Their reflection was a sight to behold, painting a debauched contrast between what clean angles of her uniform remained and Cinder’s naked thighs and back, the former damp from release and the latter temporarily branded by the effects of the black wax. With the runes already written across Cinder’s skin, a quick glance could have left her mistaken for a demon – were there any such thing.

“Faster.” Winter muttered under her breath, focus broken by the rising tide of pleasure. The formula was simple – heat, friction, pressure – but even added together, there was something more drawing her quick and close to the edge. Cinder was skilled, yet it was her eagerness that was simply– “Ah!”

Perhaps it was the sudden buildup, or the fact that none of this had even been planned, but Winter felt her control warped thin, the attempts to mute what noise rose in her throat failing miserably. Her hips rolled forward against Cinder’s mouth, taking and taking until she was glutted with pleasure, spent in an orgasm that left Winter reeling. The collar of her shirt became too tight with each staggered breath, bliss and adrenaline wiping her mind clean until the rhythm of her heart tapered back to an even beat.

Cinder leaned back onto her heels when Winter let go, the haze from moments before replaced with a blazing curiosity of her own. Nothing was said, but seeing that confidence built so easily again confirmed that it could only be tamped down for so long, rising from the ashes of degradation with only minor marks to show for it. Winter returned her clothes to some semblance of order under that weighted gaze, although the sweat gathered at her brow spoke volumes.

“There’s a tub behind that far door.” She gestured in that direction, turning her voice back to the tone of command. “Draw a bath and clean yourself up.”

Standing took a moment, gravity pulling Cinder’s knees askew before she found her balance. “And then?”

“We start again.” Winter uttered the words as a given, raising a brow. “Now go.”

The bathroom door clicked when Cinder drew it shut, but the lockbolt went untouched. Dropping down to fetch her gloves, Winter turned them over between her palms, missing the familiar protection. They were integral as armor, providing a distance from blood and Dust alike, from touch. Now Cinder’s perfume lingered on her fingers, heavy notes of amber and musk that would have been ill-suited to anyone else.

It must have been on Weiss’ skin, once.

Winter’s hand clenched into a fist, stare boring holes into the door where Cinder was secreted away. She would do what was needful, arm herself with knowledge for the right questions, whatever it took to ensure Weiss stayed safe. Nothing would ever absolve the debt between them, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t try.

–

**Author's Note:**

> "Vast, empty, and cold were the Snow Queen’s chambers, and the Northern Lights flashed, now high, now low, in regular gradations. In the midst of the empty, interminable snow lay a frozen lake; it was broken into a thousand pieces, but these pieces so exactly resembled each other, that the breaking of them might well be deemed a work of more than human skill. The Snow Queen, when at home, always sat in the centre of this lake; she used to say that she was then sitting on the Mirror of Reason, and that hers was the best, indeed the only one, in the world."  
> — The Snow Queen, Hans Andersen


End file.
